


don't let it break your heart

by cookiemonsta



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 21:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1703870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiemonsta/pseuds/cookiemonsta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda to 2.10: When the doctors finish their tests on Steve, Danny runs some of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't let it break your heart

In the wake of it all, Steve is silent and still.

Danny watches him with hungry, grateful eyes, and doesn't flinch when he sees the trauma still visible in Steve's gaze. It speaks of pain and suffering, the kind only time can heal, but as each moment brings them closer to Hawaii, all Danny feels is relief. Steve is safe, and nothing else matters.  
  
They land on the tarmac amongst a whirlwind of activity, and Danny feels his relief ebbing away with each passing second, replaced by a familiar thronging worry that tightens his chest. A stretcher skids across the tarmac towards them with a pair of paramedics in tow, and Danny doesn't miss the way Steve visibly tenses at the sight. Steve doesn't object when Danny and Chin lead him towards it though, just allows himself to be guided onto the stretcher with nothing more than a weary sigh.  
  
He still doesn't say a word as he's strapped down and covered in blankets, but Steve's gaze settles heavily on Danny anyway – a wordless plea in his eyes – and Danny understands what Steve wants, even if Steve doesn't know how to ask. Danny climbs into the ambulance after him and doesn't look back.  
  
Hours later, Steve sleeps fitfully in a hospital bed; his face swollen and too pale against stark white sheets.  
  
Outside Steve's room, the doctors tell Danny that they'll keep Steve under observation for twenty four hours – just a precaution, they insist – but Danny takes his place by Steve's bedside without complaint, feeling the remnants of adrenaline leave his body. All that's left to do is wait.  
  
Steve wakes a couple of times in the night – the drip they keep him on tugs whenever he shifts – and Danny loses track of time as he watches Steve toss and turn, suddenly fearful that if he closes his eyes, Steve won't be there when he opens them again. It's a stupid thing to feel, irrational in the worst kind of way, but Danny's never been rational when it comes to Steve. That much has always been true.  
  
Nurses come and go, offering Danny warm smiles and stale coffee that does nothing to warm his insides, and as Danny watches them check Steve's blood pressure and re-apply bandages, his world slowly but surely narrows to the steady rise and fall of Steve's chest, like it's the only truth he's ever known.  
  
They dismiss Steve the following morning, and Danny feels the burn of exhaustion almost as vividly as the swell of relief that floods his body at the news.  
  
It's only once they're back at Steve's place, once Danny has splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth for the first time in over a day, that Steve finally speaks. His voice is threadbare and hoarse from disuse, but Danny hangs on every word.  
  
“Gonna take a shower,” Steve rasps. “Don't wanna smell like a hospital anymore.”  
  
“Go ahead,” Danny says, watching Steve's retreating back as he makes his way gingerly up the stairs. It hurts to watch.  
  
Moments later, Danny hears the pipes squeal as Steve gets the shower going, his ears pricked for any signs of trouble. It's unnecessary to be this worried, Danny knows it is, especially when the hospital has given Steve the all clear, but Danny can't fight the impulse.  
  
Which is why, when Steve's shower ticks over the six minute mark, Danny _knows_ that something is wrong.  
  
He takes the stairs two at a time, crosses the landing and pushes open the bathroom door to reveal Steve, motionless under the spray, his hands braced either side of the shower-head like it's all he can do to keep himself upright.  
  
Danny doesn't hesitate.  
  
He steps into the shower behind Steve, wrapping his arms around Steve's middle – careful, _so careful_ – and even though he flinches at first, Danny can _feel_ it when all the breath leaves Steve's body, when Steve visibly deflates in his hold.  
  
It's as if all the fight goes out of him, and for once Danny is actually seeing the Steve that no-one sees – the man that struggles with injustice; the man that carries the weight of the world on his shoulders; the man that grew up without a father to cheer him on. It breaks something inside of Danny to know that Steve was putting on a brave face, even for him.  
  
Under Danny's hands, Steve is _trembling,_ and somehow all of Danny's training can't prepare him for that simple truth.  
  
He pulls Steve tighter against his chest and swallows against the lump in his throat.  
  
“You are such a fucking idiot,” he whispers against Steve's skin. “You're not _bulletproof_ , okay?”  
  
Steve's response is an aching, desperate sob that makes Danny draw in a ragged breath of his own, before Steve turns in his arms, presses his mouth into Danny's neck and says, “ _Danny_ ,” like the word itself is painful to say.  
  
“It's okay – you're okay,” Danny says, and it's a lie, of course it is, but it's what Steve needs to hear. “I got you,” he says, and it's enough to calm Steve's tremors, if only a little.  
  
Danny holds Steve against his body and sends up a silent prayer of thanks, grateful for the steady thrum of Steve's heart under his fingers. Somehow it's enough.

_fin._


End file.
